Genesis
by Twinings
Summary: In the beginning, there were rogues.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Selina Kyle, Pamela Isley, Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent, Jervis Tetch, or Jonathan Crane. Or the Joker, but that goes without saying._

_This is a CATverse fic (www. freewebs. com/ catverse) but does not feature CAT, as it takes place a good decade before they get in the game._

_As a point of reference, this takes place in August of CATverse year 2001. Catwoman has been around for about a year, Batman for a year and a half, Poison Ivy for five months, Mad Hatter for eight. The Scarecrow won't appear in costume until a month after this, and Harvey has another six months to enjoy his prettiness._

* * *

Selina Kyle stretched luxuriously, nearly purring with the pleasure of a cat basking in the morning sun. Was there anything nicer than to lie in bed doing nothing while the busy world started its hustle and bustle down below?

"Meow."

"Me-ow, Sugar," Selina replied sleepily. The colorful little half-breed Devon Rex sprang up onto her mistress's back, kneading the human's shoulder with her front paws. Selina relaxed with a happy sigh. What other cat burglar would be lucky enough to have her own personal four-footed masseuse?

Sugar stretched and curled up on Selina's shoulder, transforming herself from masseuse to heating pad. They had ten minutes.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before Tarzan pounced. The little panther stalked in, king of his own jungle, made a silent leap, and sank his razor-sharp teeth into Selina's ear.

"Okay! I'm up, you little monster." She rolled over, dislodging Sugar. Tarzan crouched, preparing to pounce again.

This was what she got for adopting a born hunter. She never got to sleep in anymore, and her hair was in a constant unmanageable snarl because he found it so fascinating, he just _had_ to stalk it. As if natural curls weren't bad enough already.

"Good morning, babies," Selina purred sleepily. Tarzan wiggled his tail at her. "Who's hungry?"

That was Sheba's cue to meow regally from the foot of the bed.

Nothing happened. Selina sat up.

"Sheba?" Where was the little princess? The Balinese cat, purebred princess of the apartment, should have been there, demanding her sliced liver. No Meow Mix for the nobility. The routine went the same every morning. So where was the little lady?

Selina sat up, stretching. Tarzan pounced on the hem of her purple t-shirt.

"Not now, O Great White Hunter." She scratched behind his ear, just where he liked it, and he nipped her gently to show he forgave her for the crack. He knew what was beneath a little black panther's dignity, but he just couldn't hold a grudge.

She walked into the kitchen, Sugar at her heels, Tarzan twining around her ankles. There was no sign of Sheba, even after she made enough noise with the can opener to call the kitty from any room in the apartment.

Had she gotten out? Sheba wasn't much of an explorer—that was Tarzan's job—but she could have taken it into her head to wander. She might have found the window that opened onto the fire escape. There was no screen, and Selina never kept it locked. Climbing in and out that way was so much more interesting than the boring old door.

There was probably nothing to worry about. Princess though she might be, Sheba could take care of herself. She would be back. Maybe not right away, and maybe not without help, but Sheba was coming home.


	2. Chapter 2

After a quick shower and breakfast for three, Selina took to the streets. Or at least to the hallways.

The August heat was stifling. She held her hair off the back of her neck as she talked to her neighbors, wishing she'd thought to put it up before she'd left the apartment. Her male neighbors couldn't tell her anything, mostly because they all seemed to think she was posing for a centerfold. She had expected stares, of course. She knew better than to think that she could go out in that skirt and that top without attracting attention. But she had underestimated the effect of a low-cut, sleeveless shirt clinging to her body, glistening with sweat. Maybe she should have worn a shorter necklace. But the little Egyptian cat charm she'd actually _bought_ from the museum gift shop was her favorite piece of jewelry, even if it did nestle in her cleavage, drawing every lecherous gaze.

When she found someone who would look her in the eye, she wasn't surprised that it was Mrs. Tran, the building's other resident cat lady.

"That pretty Balinese? Yeah, I see. I try to call her, but she have her eye on little sparrow. She run into park. I not follow."

"Thanks," Selina sighed. There were all kinds of discoveries for a pampered housecat to make in Baker Park. Butterflies to chase, flowers to attack, wounded baby birds to separate from their mothers. Sheba could be occupied for hours. At least Baker wasn't as big as Robinson or Aparo. It shouldn't take her _too_ long to search.

"You go to park?" Mrs. Tran asked anxiously. "Should not go. Is _bad_ place."

"Bad place?" Selina repeated, surprised. It couldn't have changed that much in two weeks since she had visited. Sure, this wasn't the most upscale neighborhood, and the park had its share of dangers after sunset, but this time of the morning, all the local kids should be playing there without a care in the world, splashing through the duck pond, testing the structural integrity of the swingset, and just generally wreaking havoc among the shrubs and flowers.

"Is bad. You nice girl. Stay home. Can get new cat."

Selina gaped at the older woman, a fellow cat person who had once pried a kitten out of a pit bull's mouth with her bare hands.

How bad could it possibly be?

She thanked Mrs. Tran again and headed straight for the park. Selina Kyle was a cat through and through, and if her curiosity killed her, the investigation would be worth the pain.

The park was deserted. Strange. There were always kids there, even on school days. It was so much nicer than the playground across the street at Central Gotham Elementary. And in this weather, there should have been someone sleeping on the benches shaded by the rows of well-tended trees.

There should have been _animals_. Why were there no ducks in the pond? Where were all the squirrels?

"Sheba, baby?" she called. The heavy summer air seemed to stifle the sound.

In fact, everything was silent. The sounds of the city reached her, but only in a muffled sort of way. She might as well have been locked in a glass box.

It couldn't have been any hotter that way, anyway.

Selina took a seat on the deserted swingset. This was an awful day to be outside. It was no wonder there were no kids around. She pushed herself back, chains creaking as she started to swing. Her sandals scuffed the hot sand, dangling from her toes. She kicked them off.

The swing moved her back and forth, creating a breeze where there was none. She rested her head against the rusty chain, scanning the grass for movement.

"Princess?" She whistled softly.

The grass moved. She pulled herself to a stop, digging in her toes, sand covering over her chipped purple nail polish. She shouldn't have taken off her shoes, she realized. But at least there were no cigarette butts or bits of broken glass buried in the sand.

Another low whistle got no response. Silently slipping her sandals back on, Selina padded over to the spot where she had seen the movement.

There was no kitty. In fact, there was nothing at all. Just overgrown grass and weeds, and—

She jumped back with a startled scream when a vine rose up from its spot hidden in the grass and flicked itself at her like a whip. Suddenly, the curiosity that killed the cat didn't seem quite so appealing. The_ plants_ were telling her to go away. She might not have listened to anything or anyone else, but when the wisteria didn't want her around…

At least now she knew what had chased everyone out of the park. But not why or how…

Oh, the hell with it. She prowled a little closer to the vine, which twitched back shyly.

"What are you up to, plantman?" She poked at it with her bare toe. "Is someone pulling your string?" The vine recoiled, and she smiled. Then, before she knew what was happening, it lashed itself around her ankle.

Oh, damn that curiosity.

The vine jerked her feet out from under her, knocking her flat on her back. She tried to kick it off; it only wrapped itself tighter as it dragged her toward the tree, snaking its way up her leg like a handsy frat boy.

She should have been wearing the costume. A quick swipe of the claws, and she would have been free. Maybe she should think about carrying a knife strapped to her thigh, right there where the vine was groping her. She couldn't make a habit of going out unarmed.

"Get off me, weed, if you don't want to be turned into mulch." She flexed her fingers in a clawlike gesture, ignoring the fact that a plant, even a sentient one, wouldn't be able to see it.

It probably couldn't hear her, either, now that she thought about it. Her threats were just going to waste.

She kicked it again.

"Would you stop doing that?"

Selina froze, giving the plant the opportunity to drag her under the tree's roots, into a hidden cave.

It was a nice little cave, not much smaller than her apartment, and adequately, if dimly, lit by phosphorescent moss growing up the walls. She was somewhat relieved to find herself looking up at another human being, a very leggy redhead in a leafy green…well, "bikini" wasn't quite the right word. More like six flowering vines draped across the most strategic locations. The woman had more skin covered by jewelry than by clothing, if either term could honestly be applied. The tendrils of grin twirled around her arms _were_ pretty, and since Selina doubted there were any thorns pressing into that tender flesh, they did at least qualify as decorative.

"So, let me guess," Selina said calmly as more vines lashed her to the ground. "Eve? Eden? It's got to be something along those lines, what with the…" She gestured as best she could at the other woman's costume.

The redhead looked a little miffed.

"It's Poison Ivy, to you. Now, who are you, and why are you prowling around in my park?"

"Catwoman. And I was curious."

Poison Ivy was definitely miffed.

"Catwoman? Isn't there anyone in this town _not_ trying to play superhero? And how old are you, twelve?"

"I am not a superhero," Selina said indignantly.

"Pussycat, I don't care _what_ you are. I'm a very busy woman, so if you have a reason for me not to kill you, I'd like to hear it _now_." Selina shook her hair back. So the redheaded slut thought she could be intimidated, did she?

"Have you ever met Batman?"

Poison Ivy's lip curled slightly.

"You think he's coming to save you? I'm not afraid of a rat with wings." Selina shook her head.

"Of course not. Because you've never met him." She smiled, stretching out with a contented sigh. The vine followed her movement, refusing to let her slip free that easily. So much for plan A. "When you face him and come away still standing, maybe you'll be worth my time."

"Cocky little bitch, aren't you?" Poison Ivy smiled in spite of herself. Selina smiled back.

"It's not cockiness if it's warranted. I've earned my chance to talk about Batman. Believe me, I've earned it. I was break—visiting this kitschy little jewelry shop over on Dock Street. Not really my style, but I needed to pad my bank account quick, and little did _they_ know, some of the junk some poor jerk had pawned off on them was Egyptian, four thousand years old and damn near priceless. I always did like those Egyptians. So I went in after my Bast temple jewelry, only to find out that the Joker—have you met the Joker?"

"Not yet," Poison Ivy admitted. She was looking intrigued. Selina slipped her arm free of the loosened vines and pushed the corners of her mouth up with her finger and thumb.

"'I love to stroke a pretty pussy.'" She stuck her finger in her mouth and gagged. "Oozing charm from every pore, he oiled his way across the floor and informed me that Jewels 'R' Us was his to rob, but he'd take me as a sidekick any time, because I'd look _so_ good in a jester's mask, and nothing else. So I explained to him that I don't do the sidekick thing. Or, actually, my whip explained it to his face."

Poison Ivy bit her lip, trying to hide a smile.

"A whip, huh? I bet that went over real well."

"You bet it did. He decided he just had to return the favor by putting a smile on my face, one way or another. He left his goons behind to break all the glass, and chased after me with his squirting flower. You'd be surprised how agile he is. He _almost_ caught me."

"Okay, I'll bite," said Ivy. "Why 'almost'?"

Selina slipped her other hand free and made her arms into bat wings.

"Tall, dark and handsome dropped down and took him out with one punch. Me-_ow_," she purred. "That's a man you don't want to tangle with in a dark alley. So I tangled with him on the roof instead. Good climber. He was determined to catch me, but, lucky me, I found his weakness. I got away with the loot, and six months later I was the proud owner of a nice big chunk of land that had been sitting unused right outside the city. I'm working on fixing it up now. It's going to take a lot of diamonds to turn a landfill into a nature preserve, but I'm well on my way."

Admitting defeat, Ivy waved her hand, and the vines uncoiled from Selina's legs.

"Okay, so what's his weakness?"

Selina smiled.

"He's a breast man."

Poison Ivy tried not to smile. She managed to look severe for about half a second. Then she burst out laughing.

"That's a weakness I should be able to take advantage of." They both giggled helplessly. Selina got up, keeping her movements minimal so as not to remind the other woman of the hostility that had only just dissipated. Still laughing, Ivy reached up. A net of vines slithered down to meet her, forming a hammock for her to sit on. Another one formed near Selina. She accepted the gesture and took the seat.

"So, kittycat, what does bring you to my park?"

"My cat's gone missing. A neighbor of mine saw her running in this direction. I was hoping she would be here." Ivy frowned thoughtfully.

"There was a cat here this morning, I think. I chased it out, of course. It was tearing up the daffodils, poor defenseless little things. But don't worry, I didn't hurt it."

_Oh, gee, thanks._

"Do you know where she went?"

"Hmm." Ivy leaned back, vines reforming the seat behind her as she moved. "Someone picked her up. He was…oh, what was his name? He was in Arkham last March."

Oh, great. She was going to have to leave one loony just to seek out another.

"What did he look like?"

"Oh…short. Blond hair. He has an overbite." She shrugged. "I don't pay attention to these things. When you're seen one human being, you've seen them all. I do remember, when he saw it, he said something about…he said, 'Do cats eat bats?'"

"'Do cats eat bats?'" Selina repeated dubiously.

Poison Ivy shrugged again and said, derisively, "Theme villains." Selina hissed. Ivy ducked her head a little. "Right. Sorry."

"Meow. Well, thanks for your help. I'd better be going now. And don't forget—jiggle jiggle."

"Jiggle jiggle," Ivy repeated with a half smile. "Go on. He's going to be here any minute now."

"Oh, he is, is he?"

Ivy twitched her fingers, and an unassuming cocoon of vines on the far wall started writhing with a muffled scream. Selina raised an eyebrow.

"The district attorney," Ivy explained. "Handsome Harvey's been putting his support behind a few things that aren't making Mother Nature very happy. He needs to be brought around to a greener point of view."

"And you're going to accomplish this by wrapping him in a cocoon and, what, biting off his head?" Ivy laughed.

"That wouldn't be very subtle, would it?" The vines peeled away from the struggling man, exposing his head to the air. Selina felt a little purr bubble up in the back of her throat.

He really was devilishly handsome, in a very classic way, in spite of the bloody scratches that the thorns had left on his face. He had strong features, flashing black eyes, a great head of hair, and she could just imagine what the vines _weren't_ showing her. And she would be willing to bet that a charming smile the likes of which no woman could resist would be lighting up that handsome face if he weren't in such a state of tightly wound fury, barely kept in check.

"Let me go, Pamela." Even his voice was too perfect to be for real, deep and smooth as slow-churned cream. "It doesn't have to be like this. If you have a problem, we can talk about it like reasonable adults."

"Oh, no." She sauntered over to him, working the hips so well, he forgot about being angry and simply stared at her. "You, Harvey Dent, are hurting your Mother, and you need to be taught a lesson about the proper application of power." Teasingly, she ran her finger down his jawline. He remembered to be furious. "Although, in the big picture, _you're_ nothing more than bait."

"This is starting to look like something that's none of my business," Selina muttered to herself as Ivy cuddled up against her captive. His breathing was becoming labored, his skin turning red where she had touched him. Selina could almost bring herself to feel sorry for the guy, if she hadn't known just what kind of man he was.

He was a politician and a dog person. He didn't deserve her rescue.

Batman wouldn't let the villainess _kill_ him, anyway. He was principled like that.

"Good luck with your cat," Ivy said, dragging her attention away from Dent when Selina started to pull herself out through the opening in the tree roots. She smiled.

"Good luck with your bat."

And she was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

"Do cats eat bats?" Selina murmured under her breath as she strolled aimlessly down the sidewalk. "Do cats…eat bats? Hmm. Do bats—do cats eat—bats." She stopped in her tracks. "Do_ bats _eat_ cats_?"

It had been years since she had read _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. It had been on her bookshelf when she was a little girl, but she hadn't been much interested in reading it. She had been too active to care about stories. But she remembered the Cheshire Cat, teasing silly little Alice, her mother's voice in the dark between awake and asleep, stretching the words out with supreme felinity. She remembered Alice and Dinah. And she remembered the Mad Hatter.

Yes, the Mad Hatter. She remembered the picture of a funny-looking little man in a top hat.

And she remembered that same picture from the paper. It hadn't really clicked with her at first, the connection between that sad-looking WayneTech employee and the silly man in the story that had made her giggle when she was just a little girl.

But now…now she remembered. And she knew exactly where to find him, too.

Tenniel Gardens, the Powers-That-Be's latest attempt at making Gotham City into a Nice Place to Live, was all the way on the other side of town, not far from Arkham Asylum. Selina had never been there, but she had heard it was a nice little place, crammed with statues and hedge sculptures of all the characters from Wonderland. If it had been around ten years ago, she would have begged her mother to take her there. She had never gotten around to teaching her sister to climb a tree; Maggie was the one who would always rather be sitting at home with a book. Maybe in Wonderland, they would have finally found their common ground.

On the tram, hurtling along at blistering speeds among the highest rooftops of Gotham City, Selina stared at the empty seats and saw the ghosts of her childhood, a pretty, dark-eyed woman, a sweet-faced child with a smile that showed the purple bands on her braces, a coltish girl only just willing to sit still because of the box of kittens on her lap. She blinked and they were gone.

But the dilapidated cardboard box was still there. Meowing.

Selina got up to investigate. She had this car all to herself; no one took the tram anymore. What had once been a symbol of Gotham's progress, charging toward the future full speed ahead, had devolved into just another place for an old man to be mugged, a woman to be raped, or a teenager to be shot in self-defense for pulling out a switchblade comb or a can of spray paint. The respectable types had fled the skies, back to the grimy streets below. Soon the predators had followed. And the ultramodern Gotham Tramway had become a relic of the past, utilized only by the brave, the foolish, the curious, and those with a powerful sense of nostalgia.

It wasn't a place Selina would have chosen to leave a box of homeless kittens, but obviously, someone else had. A child, by the looks of the handwriting on the note: "Please take care of my kittys."

Well, who was she to reject an offer like that? She reached down to pick up one of the kittens. Two of them shied away from her hand. The third sniffed her curiously.

"Oh, I like you, Sniffles." She let him latch on to her wrist, jangling her silver bracelets. His brothers got over their shyness and sniffed at her. She scratched behind their ears.

She really shouldn't be taking home any more cats. She knew that. This wasn't like when she was seven years old and could always count on Mama to take care of the babies that followed her home. But she couldn't just leave them on the train. She'd have to find them a place before she went and tracked down Sheba.

She really did want to keep them. They were just too sweet, and she didn't know what kind of home they would find if she just left them with the vet.

And the note had asked her to take care of them, not just abandon them somewhere else.

Oh, who was she kidding? She couldn't take in three more cats.

"You wouldn't want to come home with me anyway, would you?"

They all expressed their disagreement by attacking her hand in a cuddly kitten swarm.

"Oh, stop that. How am I supposed to let you go if you make me love you?"

The tram came to a stop, and someone actually got on. Selina looked at the group of school kids with some suspicion. She couldn't leave her kitties with _them_.

Well, this was her stop, anyway. She picked up the box and left, ignoring the catcalls from the overeager fourteen-year-olds.

Down on street level, she took a moment to orient herself. This wasn't her part of town. Her stalking grounds were north of Park Row, far enough from Arkham and the State Pen that not too many escaped cons came her way, and not too many curious cops came after. And she worked south of the Finger River, where the money was, like any sane person would do. It felt strange looking to the north and seeing Arkham's highest tower rising ominously above the city.

She turned her back on it. The Gardens made for a better view.

And just there, on a bench by the garden gate, were a man in a truly awful striped tie and a little blond girl in a Hello Kitty t-shirt. The little girl was crying, to her father's obvious distress.

"Kitten, sweetheart, it's not going to be so bad. It's just Mommy's house."

"But I want to be with _you_," the kid pouted.

Ah, separation anxiety. The parents were getting divorced, most likely, and Daddy's Little Girl wasn't ready for it. Selina had never had much sympathy for children of divorce, boo hoo hoo, how tragically difficult their childhoods must be. As far as she was concerned, half those kids were using the disruption in their lives as an excuse to act like even bigger brats than they already were. Still, she hated to see a Hello Kitty fangirl cry, so she gave one of the kittens a little nudge. He put his paws on the edge of the box, looked out, and meowed.

The little girl looked up, suddenly all smiles.

"Daddy, she has kitties! Can I have a kitty, Daddy?"

Daddy looked like a deer in headlights. Selina smirked to herself. Obviously, he wasn't used to the word "no."

"Mommy would just love that, wouldn't she?" he muttered. The little girl pouted up at him. Selina smiled. He grinned back suddenly. "I don't suppose you're looking for a good home for those kittycats?"

It wasn't very nice of her--not nice for Mommy, anyway--but Selina never looked back.


	4. Chapter 4

The Mad Hatter wasn't difficult to find. She had been expecting something dramatic, though. What she found was an ordinary-looking man in a top hat lying in the grass with a book under a specially bred red-and-white rosebush. Not far away, a white mouse was frolicking inside a transparent purple plastic ball.

He stood and raised a hand to wave when he saw her coming. He had his sleeves pushed up, revealing scratches all over his forearms and especially on his hands. That was Sheba's work, all right. She liked to go for the hands, if she thought she wasn't being treated with the respect she was due, teeth and claws slicing away until she got a little of her own back.

"Good morning," she said carefully, when all he did was stare at her expectantly. "Have you seen a cat?" He smiled dreamily. "I'm looking for my _cat_," she said a little more loudly.

"She's with the warden, I believe," he replied with a low bow.

"The…what?"

"Oh. I've muddled it, haven't I? The Professor. You want the Professor." He picked up the plastic ball and addressed the mouse inside. "Positively he runs over with learning."

"Well, he's mad, anyway," Selina muttered to herself. The Mad Hatter looked wounded.

"How do you know I'm mad?"

Selina rolled her eyes.

"Listen, buddy, I'm not in the mood for games. I'm hot, I'm tired, and I just want my cat. Now, where can I find this Professor?"

He looked just slightly irritated.

"You want to see the Professor?"

"Ye-es," she said with an exaggerated nod. His eyes widened.

"Do you have a flying carpet?" he asked in the same condescending tone.

Huh. That wasn't from _Alice in Wonderland_, was it?

"Look, are you just wasting my time, or what?"

"If you knew time as well as I do," said the Hatter, "you wouldn't talk about wasting it."

Ah, this part she remembered.

"I know I have to beat time when I learn music." She leaned over as if offering a confidential secret. "Want me to demonstrate?"

The threat got through. He lost his dazed expression and straightened up, holding the mouse close to his chest.

"That's a most inconsiderate plan. It wasn't as if I wasn't going to tell you. He's just over there." He pointed to one of the houses ringing the park, a tiny cottage that had probably been around longer than the city itself, and certainly looked its age.

"There. Now, was that so hard?"

"'He felt it was his turn to speak, And with a shamed and crimson cheek, Moaned "This is harder than Bezique!" But when she asked him "Wherefore so?" He felt his very whiskers glow, And frankly owned, "I do not know."'" He tucked the white mouse under one arm and the book under the other in order to put up his hands in surrender when he saw her frown. "I didn't mean it. But you're so easily offended, you know."

She told herself she might as well let him off the hook. There was no use reasoning with a madman.

"Tell me about the Professor, will you? Why does he have my cat?"

He smiled muzzily, running his thumb over one of the scratches on his hand.

"Some green-eyed cats are bad tempered."

"Yes," said Selina. "Yes, they are." He had the gall to look supremely annoyed with her slowness in taking the joke.

"Your cat," he said, "saw a good opportunity for making her escape, so she set off at once, and ran till she came to that house. I never saw such a house for getting in the way. I called after her, of course. Just then flew down a monstrous crow, as black as a tar-barrel, which frightened both the heroes so, they quite forgot their quarrel."

"I quite honestly hate this," Selina muttered to herself. Why was she bothering, anyway? He wasn't going to give her anything useful. He couldn't. Sheba was in that house. Trying to get any more information would just be a waste of time.

She turned her back on him.

"Kitty, can you play chess?" he called after her.

She looked back over her shoulder. He had sat back down, the mouse scurrying around beside him, the book cradled in his lap. Before him in the grass where she hadn't noticed them before were a chess board, pieces scattered haphazardly, and a steaming cup of tea.

The Mad Hatter smiled hopefully. Selina shook her head.

"Play with yourself," she said, and left him there.

* * *

_Author's note: Apologies all around for the delay. Expect the next chapter faster. Better. Stronger. We have the technology! And I thank you for your patience. Lame jokes are merely my attempt to make good._


	5. Chapter 5

The little house wasn't quaint enough to be a historical landmark. It probably wasn't old enough, either. It had probably been around since before this part of Gotham was The Big City, but not as long as Selina had originally estimated. It was sandwiched between a couple of other crotchety one-bedroom houses, their roofs slightly higher. She liked that.

Up the drainpipe of the house on the left and across the gap between the roofs she went, landing with a faint thump that didn't disturb the pigeons roosting there. She took a moment to tie back her hair and secure her necklace before she eased her way over the edge of the roof, peering in through the grimy attic window.

It looked like some kind of lab in there, cages, medical tools, stainless steel equipment she couldn't begin to recognize. She could hear what sounded like a dog whining in pain, and the soft, repetitive scratching of claws on steel.

Disgusting. And her baby was in there?

Not for long.

It was easy enough to pry the window open, even hanging upside down as she was. Getting through was another matter, but once she managed to squeeze through, first one shoulder, then the other, the rest followed.

She went to the pet carriers stacked along the wall. Yes, there was her little Sheba at last, sleek and beautiful in spite of her ruffled fur, cowering in the back of the cage. Selina opened the door. Sheba meowed pitifully and refused to come to her.

"Come on, baby, it's all right." Sheba's tail twitched, and she hunkered down firmly in her corner.

Selina inspected the other cages, scowling. Besides Sheba, this Professor Whoever-He-Was had collected two mangy alleycats, a whimpering golden retriever, three pigeons (two of them with broken wings) and an assortment of beady-eyed rodents. Each cage had been supplied with food and water—each dish untouched, except for the few that had been kicked over by an animal in a moment of panic.

She opened the other cages. None of the other animals showed any sign of wanting to come out. The other cats hissed at her, fur standing on end. The dog looked up and her with big, sad eyes and, trembling, released her bladder.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," Selina said in her most soothing tones. "I'm here to help you. Good girl. Pretty girl. Smelly dog, yes you are." She had never been too fond of canines. The pure breeds were dumber than a sack of bricks, and no dog could match a cat for grace and charm.

That didn't mean she approved of _this_ being done, not to a dog or a cat or _any_ animal.

The man responsible for this was going to pay.

She moved to the workstation to get a look at his notes, though it didn't surprise her that she couldn't make sense of them. Whoever was behind all this was a scientist. Selina was a clever kitty, but all she knew about formulas and chemicals she had learned from Rob Roy, the Science Boy, prancing around in oversized lab goggles on a long-ago black and white TV.

She understood some of it, though. She understood that he had been drugging his animals with some poison of his own invention, sometimes injecting them, sometimes adding it to their food. She understood that it was only through tedious trial and error that he had worked out what dosage would leave the subject alive. And she understood that all this was done in the name of revenge. Why else would he have a list of names at the bottom of that stack of papers, written in a jagged scrawl that was barely recognizeable next to the other tidy notes, the ink heavy and black, pen biting through paper in the writer's rage?

One name was scratched out, savagely obliterated from the page. She wasn't naïve enough to think it meant he had been spared. She could read the first few letters, O-p-p-e. She couldn't help thinking of Oppenheim, the late psychology professor whose name and image had been blazoned all over the Gotham University Museum the last time she had visited. She had thought at the time that an old man's death, even of a heart attack during what was whispered to have been some kinky game in the bathtub, was none of her business. Maybe she had been wrong.

The only other name that looked familiar was Pidgin. There was a Katrina Pidgin who volunteered at the History Museum, giving the children's tours every Saturday morning. Selina made a point of getting to know every museum employee at least well enough to put a name to a face. She had seen Katrina's husband and their little boy when they went to see Mama at work one day. The husband had been a pudgy, affable man in tweed with a folder full of papers tucked under his arm. A college professor, she had decided when she'd seen him.

Did somebody have a grudge against Gotham U? Lost his job, maybe? Got caught letting cute blondes bump their grades up doing extra credit work after class?

Impulsively, she took a prepared syringe and held it up to the light. It looked innocuous enough. It could have been tranquilizers, a flu shot, mineral water, or liquid ebola for all the difference it would have made to her eyes.

She took it with her.

The golden retriever worked up the courage to slink out of her cage and pressed herself, trembling, against Selina's leg, apparently deciding there was safety in companionship.

"Dumb dog," she said gently, and scratched behind her ears.

The only way down was through a trapdoor. It wasn't going to be easy sneaking through that. If there was someone below, she would have no way of knowing until she got down there.

But there was nothing to be gained by waiting. She released the catch and eased the trap door down, holding tight to the wooden ladder. It creaked, and she froze.

There was no sound from below.

Selina let the door open the rest of the way, doing her best to keep the popping and creaking to a minimum. The hallway below was dark and quiet. Selina lowered herself down.

The dog clambered down after her, making more noise than she would have thought possible.

"You're doing this just to spite me, aren't you?" she whispered. The dog pressed close, whining softly. When nothing came flying out of the darkness at them, Selina decided to make the best of it and move on.

Somewhere between the attic lab and the first doorway, she named her new companion Sabretooth.

The door swung open with a single quiet squeak, showing her a spartan bedroom, unoccupied. The bed didn't look like it had been slept in recently. There was no indentation on the pillow, and the blanket had been left at the foot of the bed, clumsily folded. She padded into the room, silent as a cat. Sabretooth lumbered after.

There was no furniture other than the bed, nothing in the closet but two suits of clothes, a pair of shoes, and something made of burlap shoved into the corner. Boring!

Maybe she wasn't meant for investigation. Coming in and taking what she wanted, yes. Surveillance, sure. Working through security systems and fighting off guards, okay. But she was going to have to leave the detective work to big strong guys in capes with no sense of fun. What did she care about who this Professor _was_? She wanted to claw his eyes out, not sit down to lunch with him.

"Come on, girl." Sabretooth stayed glued to her leg as she moved back out into the hall.

Across the way was a bathroom, cramped and dingy, with a cracked mirror and rust around the drains. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of mildew and shut the door.

Next up: the library. And just what was a hole like this doing with a library? Well, it didn't matter. The room was dim, heavy curtains pulled tight over the window, but the big leather armchair in the center of the room was obviously unoccupied. Sabretooth stuck her head in the room and whined.

"I know," said Selina. "Musty." All those books, lining every wall, made the room smell _old_. She nudged the dog out and shut the door.

"What's next, girl?" she whispered. "Light a candle?"

She had come to the end of the hall, where she was presented with a choice. A glance to the left showed her an empty living room—completely empty, no furniture or anything. To her right, she could see the corner of a kitchen table.

_Kitchen it is, then._

She came around the corner in a fighting stance her body still remembered from all those years ago. Her mother had been into more than just Tai Chi, for all the good it did her in the end, and Selina had followed her every step of the way.

The stance was wasted, though. The room's only occupant was asleep at the table, his head pillowed on an open notebook. A thick, leatherbound book lay open in front of him, propped up so as to avoid damage to the spine. Pushed over to the side, out of the way, was a half-eaten bowl of ramen noodles.

Selina frowned. She had expected someone…older. And bigger. This guy looked like a kid straight out of high school, maybe a little older than she was, but not by much. And he wasn't a fighter. He was just a scrawny little thing without an ounce of muscle on him, with glasses bent from being laid on and a faded bruise on his eye that told her he wasn't very good at not getting hit. She could beat the hell out of him, no problem. And wouldn't she feel guilty doing it.

Selina had always believed in taking from those who could afford it. There was far more thrill in it that way, and besides, it just seemed fair. She knew what it was like to have nothing and lose everything. Hurting this guy had the feel of mugging a homeless man.

Her fingers tightened around the syringe. If she wanted fair, she knew what she had to do.

Something flapped heavily when she moved toward him. She stepped back hastily. Then she smothered a laugh.

So the cat killer had a pet of his own, a big black—crow? Raven? She didn't know. It was just a big ugly bird with flat black eyes and one bent wing, staring at her from its perch in the corner with a definite sense of unfriendliness. Sabretooth crouched low, growling. The bird said, "_Quork_."

The man at the table stirred.

"'Nore?" he muttered groggily.

Oh, rats. No more time to think this through. Go for the vein—what was it, the jugular?—standing out in blue under the pale white skin of his neck.

She pounced.

The bird slammed into her hand with a defiant squawk, knocking the toxin away before its crippled wing sent it tumbling across the table.

The man came up out of his seat, stumbling and confused, his hand going to the spiral imprint left in his cheek, as if _that_ were the important thing.

"What—" The dog's growling intensified. He froze, coming awake all at once. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

"You hurt my cat," she said.

"_What_?"

"Nobody hurts my cat."

He made a move toward the kitchen sink, where she could only assume he had a knife or some other sort of handy weapon in with all the dirty dishes. Before she could make a move to take him down, Sabertooth attacked, snarling ferociously. He went down hard.

As she watched him thrash and cry with eighty pounds of savage beast on top of him, Selina decided that dogs might have their uses after all. This one, at least, was smart enough to recognize the man who had been hurting her.

"Help me!" he shouted, looking up at her as if he actually thought she would. Blood spattered his face as Sabretooth tore at his arm. Selina leaned over him and held his gaze, wanting to make sure he clearly understood her.

"You. Hurt. My. Cat."

He tried to push the dog's head away. She let go of his arm and snapped at him, clamping down hard on his fingers.

Selina whistled sharply, just to see what she would do. Sabretooth let go of his hand immediately and stood still, growling, teeth bared an inch from his face, poised to rip out his throat out at a moment's notice.

This was why it was a bad idea to frighten animals. Even the most docile house pet could turn into a face eater when cornered.

"I'm sorry I hurt your cat," he squeaked out. At the sound of his voice, Sabretooth growled louder.

"I _was_ going to give you a taste of your own medicine, but it looks like birdie messed up those plans." She spared a disgusted glance for the bird puffing up at her from the table. "But you can't go unpunished." She picked up his book. That had a nice weight to it, good for smacking him around with. His eyes widened in fear.

"Don't hurt it!"

"_It_?" she repeated. "I was going to hurt _you_." He moved as if to get up. Sabretooth snapped her teeth at him. He went still.

"Please. It's a first edition."

Huh.

"Valuable?" she asked, dangling it over his face.

"N—" He hesitated. "It is to me."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

He looked flabbergasted.

"It's a _first edition_."

"It's coming apart at the seams," she argued, picking at the frayed edge of the binding.

"Don't _do_ that!" Sabretooth snarled.

"Fine, if it's that _important_ to you." It took him a second, but the real meaning of her words got through. He flinched.

"Don't." Selina glanced around and spied a book of matches on the counter. Perfect.

"Go ahead and stop me."

He lost all fear of the slavering beast on his chest when he saw her reaching for the matches. He shoved the mutt aside and lunged at her. Thrown off balance, Sabretooth skidded, righted herself, and bounded after her two-legged prey. She managed to get his pants leg between her teeth, but not before he snatched the book out of Selina's hand.

She lit the match anyway. Looking oddly betrayed, he kicked the dog away and made a run for it.

Oh, what she wouldn't give for a lasso. This would be a perfect time to snare his ankles and introduce his face to the linoleum. Maybe a whip would do the trick. Or maybe she had seen _Temple of Doom_ one time too many. But it _would_ make a good weapon, if she left off the fedora.

Sabretooth seemed to agree that tripping him was a good plan. That was one good dog. She held his flapping trouser leg and yanked, dragging his pants down and knocking him over sideways. He yelped and kicked at her again, but thought better of it when she chomped down on his bare foot.

He could have beaten her off with the book, but it seemed that really wasn't his style. Selina watched him thrash until, with a loud ripping sound, he won his freedom and scrambled for the nearest open doorway, still clutching his book protectively.

Selina dashed after him, too late to stop him from locking himself into the library. Sabretooth threw herself at the door, doing all she could to gnaw through it.

Fine. If he wanted to hide in there, so be it. She took hold of the doorknob and gave it a practiced jerk, jamming the lock. He would be able to get out sooner or later, if he was patient and good with his hands, but not before her business was done. She left the dog alternately chewing and barking, and went back up to the attic.

Sheba meowed sadly. Selina reached in to scratch behind her ears.

"It's okay, princess. The bad man won't hurt you anymore."

She went to the birdcage and picked up the one pigeon that was still able to fly. She had never been particularly good with birds, but if she could make friends with a dog, she could tolerate the pigeon long enough to take it to the window and set it free. Perhaps sensing the momentousness of the occasion, it streaked away into the sky without first leaving any presents on her hands.

Next she turned her attention to the rodents. Ugh. Rats and mice. Not her favorite creatures. She overturned the cage and danced backward as they scuttled out around her feet. Ew. She waited until they were all gone, then reached up to pet Sheba again.

The kitty crept forward and rubbed her head against Selina's hand.

"Feeling better, baby?" She drew her little precious out of the cage. Sheba went rigid, claws out, but finally resigned herself. She climbed up Selina's arm and settled on her shoulder.

Selina lowered the other two cats and the wounded birds down into the hallway, and climbed down the ladder after them. These animals she could leave with the vet. The cats yowled at her from inside their pet carriers; the pigeons fluttered desperately, sensing freedom. Sheba nervously pricked her claws in and out of Selina's shoulder.

Sabretooth was still worrying at the door, an encouraging pile of wood chips scattered around her, but she left off and followed after Selina when she walked by.

The living room wasn't quite as empty as she had thought. Against the wall was yet another bookshelf, this one crammed with worn paperbacks. And on the floor in front of it was a smashed picture frame, shards of broken glass edged with dried blood. She set down her evacuees to take a closer look.

Oh, he was _really_ not happy with the university. That was his degree lying shredded and bloody on the floor. Jonathan Crane, blah blah blah, doctor of psychology, blah blah blah. Hmm. He didn't look old enough for a doctorate. She picked the paper out of the glass and took it with her. He obviously didn't want it anymore.

Outside, she set the pet carriers down on the broken sidewalk and surveyed the little house, hands on her hips. Sabretooth sniffed at the cats. They hissed.

Selina didn't feel quite satisfied. She had saved this batch of test animals, but what was to stop him from doing it again? She had given him a bit of a scare and bloodied him up a little, but had she really made a lasting impression?

She picked up a rock and chucked it through the library window. The glass shattered magnificently. She heard a muffled curse from inside. Strike one for justice. This vigilante thing wasn't so hard.

She lit another match and held it to the crumpled paper.

"Jiggle the knob," she advised, and tossed it in.

There, that ought to do it. She stuck around just long enough to see the curtains go up in flames. Sheba meowed approval in her ear.

He'd find his way out, probably. And if he didn't, it would serve him right.


	6. Chapter 6

There weren't many people actually living in this neighborhood, and those who did weren't home in the middle of the day. The only person to see the smoke rising through the broken window was Tenniel Gardens' lone occupant, Jervis Tetch. He gave some thought to calling the fire department, but when the lack of a telephone thwarted him, he wandered over to investigate for himself instead, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ in one hand, a thermos of piping hot tea in the other. He took his time about it, though, waiting until Kitty and her pets had disappeared around the corner.

As he approached the house, the burning curtains dropped out of the window and a book came sailing through the hole in the glass to skid to a halt at his feet. Three more followed. Curiouser and curiouser.

Jervis came as close as he cared to, close enough to feel the heat of the fire that was undoubtedly spreading through a room full of books, as fires tend to do when that much paper is involved. He wondered if the fire had been started to smoke out the intruder. If so, it had been a brilliant plan with only one major flaw.

A fifth book failed to clear the glass, bouncing back into the room instead. The sixth did the same, but this time the glass broke, widening the opening.

The next two came out together. They didn't travel as far as the first set, tumbling to a stop well within reach of the growing conflagration.

Jervis waited, but the next book didn't come. He set his possessions down on the sidewalk and moved just a bit closer, peering in through the smoke now rising thick and black.

And something nearly took his nose off.

"Sure, it's an arm!" he said in surprise, and indeed it was, reaching up from somewhere near the floorboards to thrust one last book toward safety. The book tumbled to the ground. The arm started to withdraw.

This last rescue proved to be too much for it. The arm drooped, bent elbow resting on the edge of the glass, its owner evidently having forgotten both that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long, and that if you cut your finger _very_ deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds. The arm jerked in time with a sound that was the person on the other end of it coughing, and tried to straighten out a time or two, but failed.

Jervis thought of Alice saying, "As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they COULD! I'm sure I don't want to stay in here any longer."

Imagining that this arm's owner must think something like little Alice, he took hold of it near the shoulder and gave it a good hard tug. It resisted at first. Then, groping blindly, the hand found Jervis's sleeve, and he knew he had it—or it had him. Painfully, digging his heels in, he dragged an entire human being out through the window.

The soot-covered Professor promptly collapsed on the bare ground, digging his fingers into the scrubby yellow grass and sucking in great lungfuls of air. Jervis collected his belongings and stood back, watching curiously.

The Professor lay still for a minute, coughing weakly. Then he lurched to his feet all at once, eyes wide.

"My books!"

Jervis snatched him by the arm before he could go running back into the building.

"There's no sort of use in that," he said. The Professor shook him off.

"What—who are you? What are you doing here?" Jervis skittered backward. Was this the thanks he got for trying to help?

"One thing is certain, that the _white_ kitten had nothing to do with it—it was the black kitten's fault entirely."

The Professor stared at him, uncomprehending. Then with a weary moan, he dropped to his knees.

"My _books_," he mourned quietly. Jervis nodded to himself. Who, after all, knew better than he the value of books?

The Professor's head came up.

"Lenore!" He made a halfhearted jerk toward the house, then settled again, acknowledging his loss. The resignation lasted only a second or two before he blurted, "My _work_!" and stumbled to his feet.

He ran for the safety of the park, skidded, turned, picked up those books he had tossed clear of the fire, and ran again. Jervis followed. It seemed the only prudent thing to do.

They came to a stop together in the very clearing where Jervis had left his chess set and his mouse. The Professor bent over, holding a stitch in his side and clumsily hugging his untidy pile of books to his chest. He looked back over his shoulder, uncertain now. The house was burning merrily, flames reaching for the sky and spreading to the buildings on either side, but the explosion promised by their sprint hadn't come. The roof was still on, the walls intact, though it would all be coming down soon enough.

Jervis sat down in the grass. His new friend was looking lost, unsure where to go or what to do next. The solution seemed clear enough. He started setting up the chess board.

"Tea?" he offered politely when his friend made no move to sit. The Professor focused on him.

"What?" He shook his head in confusion. A fine dusting of soot fell from his hair. He coughed. "Who are you? Why…tea? _What_?" Jervis held out his thermos with a helpful smile. With enough tea, even a mad world could make some sense.

His friend shook his head again, angry now.

"I don't want your _tea_! I want…" He faltered, staring after his burning house. "My…" He sagged, letting his books thump down around his feet. One or two of them were smoldering, unnoticed, as was his sleeve where he'd been holding them.

Jervis lowered his offering. Then, reluctantly, he held out _Alice_ instead.

His friend stared at the book in his hand. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Turned away. Turned back. Stared at the book some more.

"Oh, put it down," he said at last. "I can't…I need to…" He gestured vaguely.

Smiling encouragingly, Jervis made his opening move. His friend stood, hesitating, but there was nothing else for him to do. He sat, muttering under his breath about women and cats and revenge.

And Jervis shared his tea.


End file.
